


meticulous planning, tenacity spanning

by mixtapestar



Series: Queliot Week 2020 [7]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Episode: s03e06 Do You Like Teeth?, Humor, Laughter During Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Queliot Week Day 7: free choice.Prompt: After magic gets shut off, El forgets the mechanics of muggle sex and has to figure out how to work without instant lube and cleaning spells. Humor abounds.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Queliot Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017429
Comments: 26
Kudos: 82





	meticulous planning, tenacity spanning

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fun little fic, let's assume Eliot accepted some form of Quentin's proposition post-mosaic.
> 
> BIG thank you to [LeakingLlama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leakingllama) for the prompt. I had fun with this one. Thanks as always to [Rubi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubick) for the beta read. <3

When Eliot meets up with Quentin in the halls of the castle, he takes pause. Damn, Quentin looks _good_ in those clothes. Even the simple guard's uniform is much nicer than the clothes they'd been able to make or barter for in past Fillory. The shoulders are a little exaggerated, sure, and upon coming closer he can see that Quentin is sweltering, but still. It's a good look.

Quentin pulls up a chair and catches him up on the latest from the quest book, but it's all Eliot can do to focus on his words. His head is swimming with the Fairy Queen's latest threats and the renewed energy of feeling young with a mind that remembers the intricacies of being old. And Quentin smells so _goddamn_ good, his sweat pinging memories of warm nights in the cottage when they had nowhere else to be.

When Quentin spreads out the map, Eliot pieces together what he's been hearing. This is a _boating_ quest. No wonder there's a layer of barely-concealed excitement in Quentin's voice.

Eliot nods along, listening to the plan until he gets a chance to say, "I can't leave yet. The Fairy Queen's got her hand so far up my ass that I need a safeword. Plus, it's Margo in the shit." Quentin frowns, staring down at the map. "I need, like, two days, tops."

"So… you're still coming with me?" Quentin asks, looking up at him with this sad face that threatens to break his heart.

"Of course I'm still coming with you, if you don't mind waiting." He slides his hand over Quentin's thigh, crowding up against him and watching those sad eyes brighten as they fall to his mouth. "I can do a lot with two days."

Quentin utters a tiny whine in the back of his throat, and suddenly they're kissing, Eliot knocking off Quentin's hat as his fingers slide into his hair like they have so many times before, and barely at all. Those memories are so precious to Eliot, but they're nothing compared to the real thing, here and now, Quentin's tongue dipping into his mouth the moment his lips part.

"Which bedroom did you choose? We should go there," Eliot says, pulling Quentin up with him so fast that they knock the chair over. "Leave it," he instructs. "Bedroom?"

" _God_ , Eliot, I thought—"

Eliot starts walking. He's pretty sure he knows which wing they'd be headed toward, anyway. "You thought?"

"I dunno, I thought maybe you'd want to take things slow or something, given… y'know, the whole fifty years of it all."

Eliot clears his throat to get rid of that pesky dryness he suddenly feels. Fifty years of being in love, of getting it right— _most_ of the time—that part was terrifying. He's certain he can't pull that off again, here in their real lives, which is something he can and will worry about later. But sex? He can _do_ that. Especially if it means reassuring Quentin that he made the right choice, continuing things. Still, all he says is, "Absolutely not. We're young again, Q. We know better than anyone how much we should take advantage of that while we have it."

Quentin doesn't argue further, and when they reach the correct wing of the castle, he takes the lead, pulling Eliot into his room and bolting the door behind them. Eliot is on him in a flash, pushing him up against the door and nudging his legs apart to press up against his groin while they resume their heated kiss.

"Oh god," Quentin whines as Eliot moves on to his neck. His messenger bag falls to the floor. " _Please_ help me get this thing off, I'm dying in here."

"With pleasure," Eliot says, fingers already working expertly at the fastenings. As the pieces of the uniform fall to the floor, he lets his hands explore Quentin's body, sliding through his chest hair, rubbing over a nipple until it peaks under his touch, Quentin whimpering and rubbing up against him all the while.

"Feels so good," Quentin says, pushing Eliot's shirt from his shoulders and running his hands over Eliot's exposed skin in return.

"God, it was like this, in the early days, wasn't it? When we couldn't get enough of each other."

"I never could," Quentin says, his expression wide open and his skin beautifully flushed.

"Naked. Now," Eliot decides, needing to get at Quentin's cock. It takes him a moment, but once he's pushed everything down to Quentin's ankles, he glides to his knees and takes him in hand.

"Last chance to change your mind," Eliot says.

Quentin laughs a little deliriously. "Really? _Now_ is my chance? Because I wouldn't have said anything before." He pushes a little, into Eliot's grasp, a little bead of precome gathering at the tip.

"I'm just saying, once I get a taste of your cock again, I'm not going to be able to walk away."

"F-fuck. _Yes_. Do it."

Eliot licks slowly along the underside of his cock, reminding himself of the feel of it, hot and heavy against his tongue. He moves up to lap at the slit, savoring the taste of Quentin already so turned on for him before wrapping his lips around the crown and sucking. Quentin gasps, head thunking back against the door as Eliot starts working him over. He's pleased to find all these helpful memories popping up, reminding him exactly what Quentin likes, when to play with his balls, when he might want Eliot to back off if they plan to go further.

"Maybe we should make good use of your bed," Eliot suggests, pushing himself back up.

"You're wearing too many clothes for the bed," Quentin says, going for the ties of his pants. After several long seconds of effort, Quentin grunts in frustration. "What is going on here? Are these—fucking—wrap pants? How do they even work?"

"They're just… tied." Eliot laughs as Quentin's fingers work clumsily at his waist. "Would you stop? You're making it worse. Here, let me."

Once the ties are loose, kicking the fabric away is easy enough, and then they're tumbling into bed, rutting against each other as they kiss frantically.

"God, this bed is amazing," Quentin says, pushing his shoulders back against the mattress.

Eliot snickers, unfazed by Quentin's seeming distraction. "You should try mine. It's like night and day. Nothing but the best for Fillorian royalty, after all."

"Well you'll have to settle for palace guard quality for now," Quentin says, pushing him back against the pillows, "because I want to taste you, and we're not going anywhere."

"If you insist," Eliot says, voice breaking on the last syllable as Quentin moves in and sucks him down enthusiastically.

 _God_. It's inhuman, how good Quentin is with his mouth. It had surprised him the first time, before Fillory, when they were drunk on a cocktail of emotions and wine, and again at the mosaic. So it shouldn't be surprising now, with all that evidence, but it still feels unreal just _how_ amazing he feels with Quentin's mouth and attention focused on him.

He slips a hand into Quentin's hair, biting his lip and trying not to get _too_ carried away. "You're so good to me, baby. I fuckin' love your mouth. I can't wait to finger you open, get my cock inside you again."

Quentin pulls off of him, and Eliot swallows back a whine, because it's probably what needs to happen if they're going to get to that. Quentin's swollen lips are pulled into a pout, though, and that's not part of the plan. "That sounds amazing, El, but if we're gonna do that, I'm gonna need some time to get cleaned up first."

Eliot blinks at him, not quite processing that. "What?"

"No cleaning spells, remember? I l—like you and all, but bodies are gross, and muggle sex takes a little more prep time."

"Shit," he says, realizing, and when a nervous laugh bubbles out of Quentin, he can't help mirroring it. Quentin falls mostly on top of him, and they laugh until their sides hurt, holding each other loosely and just feeling the joy of it, being together. Eliot feels drunk with the thought that he gets to have this. "Are you— _fuck_ , I don't know if I have _time_ —"

"It's fine, seriously. Let me suck you off, and we'll pick this back up tomorrow. I mean, I'm guessing you don't have a condom on hand either." Eliot closes his eyes, feeling like an idiot, but Quentin just laughs again. "Don't worry. I'll get everything ready. Just… think of me, when you're off saving Fillory."

"Oh, that's a goddamn guarantee."

"Can you—? Here, at the edge of the bed?" Quentin gestures to where he wants him, flushing. "I kinda like the thought, the guard and his King. Me on my knees for you."

It's official. Quentin is going to be the death of him. He curses and does exactly as Quentin asks, trying to look magnanimous as Quentin sinks to his knees and looks up at him, but his heart is so full of affection he's not sure he manages it.

It's a relief, to get his cock back into that warm, welcome heat of Quentin's mouth. Now that he doesn't have to worry about holding back, he lets himself feel every twitch of Quentin's tongue, every sound of pleasure he makes just from getting Eliot off. He pets Quentin's hair, gripping it occasionally when something feels particularly good, letting himself fall deeper into the reality of being with Quentin for real. He's staring down at him, somewhat in awe, when he sees more than hears a little gasp come from Quentin, his face scrunching up in a look that Eliot knows all too well.

"Are you—" Eliot manages, and then Quentin cries out, confirming that _yes_ , he's _definitely_ getting off on this. _Has_ gotten off on this, his come shooting onto Eliot's feet. " _Fuck_ , Q," he breathes out, suddenly right there on the edge, and when Quentin gets his senses back enough to suck him in earnest again, he's pulling at Quentin's hair and pulsing into his mouth, moaning at the intensity of his orgasm.

Quentin swallows around his cock, licking over his length one last time before sitting back on his haunches, grinning like mad.

"I was planning to suck you off too, you know," Eliot says, smoothing Quentin's hair back out.

Quentin shrugs. "Save it for the boat. I bet you give great boat head. And tomorrow you've got other plans."

"Fuck yeah I do," Eliot says. He can't imagine focusing on the Fairy Queen's threats right now, but focus he must. Quentin will take care of tomorrow's plans.

***

Eliot strolls down the familiar corridors at least twice as fast as normal, beelining for the room Quentin is staying in, hoping he's holed up there and not wandering the castle. A short, decisive knock, a few moments of silence, and then Quentin is opening his door, bleary-eyed and confused.

"Eliot? I— um, I didn't expect you back tonight. I didn't—"

"I know, it's fine, Q." He slips inside and closes the door, just in case of nearby listeners. "Listen, Margo and I did something… let's go with 'bold', and we need to get back to Earth ASAP. I didn't want to leave you here in case Fillory did its thing and our ten minute journey wound up taking days, or something."

Quentin's eyes flit over his outfit, still grimy from the forest, up to his hair, which he knows is not as well-coiffed as it was when he left earlier today. He resists the temptation to fix it. "Okay," Quentin says after a moment, sounding resolute. "What do we need? Should I bring anything?"

Eliot shakes his head. "Just your beautiful body. I need to walk out of here alone; if the fairies spot me I need to look like I'm on one of their missions, and I don't want you caught up in the drama. Meet me and Margo at the clock tree in thirty?"

Quentin nods, and after a moment's deliberation, presses up on his toes to kiss Eliot.

Eliot reaches out to hold him there, savoring the kiss after the long-ass day he's had. "Mm, what was that for?"

Quentin shrugs. "Just, thanks for coming to get me."

"We have plans tomorrow. I intend to keep them."

He stops by his own chambers next for a quick rinse and a costume change, hoping to slide under the radar during the fairies' shift change. He finds Margo in the corridor explaining things to Tick, still clutching the bags of fairy hostages. He shudders, still unsure where this 'plan' of theirs is going.

They make it to the tree and to Quentin without incident, and when they step out of the grandfather clock into the Physical Kids' Cottage, exhaustion sets in immediately.

Margo eyes him, reading him like a book as always, and holds her hand out for the bag. "I can take it from here. You two get some sleep."

"Bambi, no. I'm a part of this as much as—"

" _Hand it over_ ," she says, leaving no room for argument, so he hands it over. "Good. Now. You'll have to sleep in Quentin's room. Pretty sure Julia's taken up residence in your old one."

Eliot arches an eyebrow at her. Whether that's true or not, he definitely suspects she would have sent them to the same room. As if Eliot needed any convincing.

"C'mon, Q. I know I woke you up, and I could go for some beauty sleep."

Quentin can't exactly argue, as he's mid-yawn when Eliot says it, so he takes Eliot's hand and leads him upstairs. As much as he'd love to make out with Quentin until they're hard again, going for round two after the long day in between, as soon as he hits the mattress, his eyes slip closed. He's asleep before he can even remove his cloak.

***

He wakes the next morning to the sound of the shower. He checks the clock — 11:13 — but he has no idea what time they got in last night. His cloak is hanging on a nearby chair, and the ties at his pants are loose. He suspects Quentin's involvement, unless he did that in his sleep.

He strips down to his underwear, sliding back under the covers to doze a little longer, until he hears the water turn off. A minute passes, then there's a slight squeak of the door opening before Quentin peeks around the other side.

"Oh good, you're awake," Quentin says, walking out with a towel held loosely around his waist.

"Mm, moreso with every passing second," Eliot says, sitting up. "You can go ahead and drop that," he suggests, beckoning Quentin forward.

He does, and Eliot is pleased to see that he's already half-hard as he climbs into Eliot's lap, meeting him in a filthy kiss that tells him exactly what's on Quentin's mind.

"I take it our plans for the day have simply changed in location," Eliot says, running his palm over Quentin's ass.

"Mmhmm," Quentin says, biting his lip as Eliot teases a finger toward his perineum. "I've got, uh, everything we need."

Eliot moves in to kiss him again, but impatience gets the better of him before long. "This is when I would normally do the lube spell so as not to interrupt things."

"Oh, um, right," Quentin says, moving off of him to reach for his nightstand. "Hang on, I know it's in here," he says, rummaging around.

"Oh, take your time," Eliot says, appreciating the view of Quentin's ass in the air as he explores the drawer.

Quentin makes a victorious noise and comes back with a bottle of Astroglide. "Huh," Eliot says, looking at the bottle. "They've changed logos since the last time I had to use this."

Quentin rolls his eyes. "Are we gonna talk branding or are you gonna fuck me?"

"We can do both," Eliot says, moving out from the center of the bed so Quentin can take his place. He slides his briefs down over his legs, kicking them over the side before taking the bottle from Quentin and slicking up both of their dicks, lining them up and pumping just like that for a while.

"Your _hands_ ," Quentin says, grinding up into his hold.

"What about my hands?" Eliot says, grinning. He starts working his hips to slide his cock over Quentin's in counterpoint to the movement of his hand, making Quentin squirm.

"They're not _fair_ ," Quentin gripes, tilting his head back into the pillows. "I have to see them all the _fucking time_ , when I _know_ what they feel like on me, _in me_. It's just—"

"Unfair?" Eliot finishes for him, when enough time has passed that Quentin's clearly not going to say anything further.

"Want you inside me. Your fingers," Quentin says suddenly, spreading his legs.

"So impatient today," Eliot says, as if he's not dying to sink his cock into that tight heat and hold onto Quentin like a lover as he fucks into him slowly.

"You like it when I tell you," Quentin says, as if Eliot needs reminding.

"You're right about that," Eliot says, drizzling probably too much lube over his fingers, spreading it around, and then reaching down toward Quentin's hole. "Feel free to keep talking to me," he adds, brushing his middle finger deliberately over Quentin's perineum.

When he slips inside, just to the first knuckle, Quentin hums in satisfaction. "It's so weird. My body hasn't had this from you yet, but I still remember it, so many different ways."

" _So_ many," Eliot says, his breath catching. "We'll just have to remind your body."

Quentin snickers. "Yeah. I think it's gonna take lots of reminding," he says, shifting his hips a little as Eliot gets his finger all the way inside. " _Oh_ , that's— yeah, c'mon, give me two."

"I've got you," Eliot says, spreading a hand over Quentin's hip as he pushes in with two fingers. Sweat is springing up on his forehead, his whole body warm just from watching Quentin react to the feel of him. Once Quentin relaxes over his two fingers, he starts fucking them in and out, watching the needy expressions flit over Quentin's face.

"You have no idea the number of times I got off to the thought of you in this bed," Quentin says, running his hands over the sheets.

"You're right, I _don't_ ," Eliot says, delighted. He curls his fingers just so to make Quentin keen with pleasure, jerking into his touch. "Tell me more."

Quentin attempts to laugh, but it comes out more like a grunt as Eliot glides over his prostate again. "As if your ego needs more stroking."

"I'm down for all stroking, especially right now," Eliot quips.

This time Quentin does laugh, an adorable, breathy thing. "If you so much as graze my cock right now, this is all gonna be over way too soon."

"Maybe I should get on with it, then," Eliot says, nudging a third finger against his entrance.

" _Yeah_ ," Quentin encourages, his leaking cock bouncing up over his belly as he moves his hips. His hair is scattered over the pillows and his whole body is flushed.

" _God_ , look at you. You take me so well." His heart is racing and he's barely even touched his cock. "I think I _will_ keep you."

Quentin grins up at him. "To think I was worried about you have second thoughts."

Eliot scoffs, mock offended. "Why would I ever have second thoughts about fucking you?"

Quentin's eyes shift away, his expression turning serious. "Not about that."

Trust Quentin to bring this up while Eliot's three fingers deep in his asshole. The truth is, he _has_ had second thoughts. Hell, he's already onto third and fourth thoughts by this point. But this is _Quentin_ , and that means he's going to try anyway. "I'm in this, okay? And I don't just mean physically."

It could be a joke about the current placement of his hand, but they both know it's not. Quentin nods, gazing back at Eliot with the love of fifty years, and it's almost too much. Eliot's the one to look away this time, but when Quentin says, "Kiss me?" he can do nothing but comply.

The sweetness of the kiss eventually turns heated as Eliot moves in and out of Quentin, making his breath come in short little bursts. Eliot hears a crinkling sound and pulls away to find Quentin shoving a condom toward him, eyes pleading.

"Hmm," he says, taking it from Quentin, holding it up to the light. "What's this then? Some manner of decoration?"

"Yeah, it makes your dick shine, now put it on so you can put it in me," Quentin says, charmingly impatient.

Eliot grins as he rolls on the condom, going for more lube and rocking up into his fist as he applies it. Quentin makes a noise of frustration that keeps him from focusing too long on that task, though. "I'm gonna go slow, okay? Despite all evidence to the contrary, this is kinda the first time you've taken my dick."

"Yeah, I know. But you warned me the first time, and remember how that went?"

Eliot huffs as he lines himself up. "You've always been impatient," he recalls. "Just—don't let me hurt you."

"I won't."

The first push is agony, because it feels— _god_ , so good, but he can see the discomfort on Quentin's face. He forces himself to still, to allow Quentin to adjust, even if he's shaking a little from the effort. Quentin looks like he's solving a complex math problem in his head, but eventually he nods. "More."

Every inch, every _centimeter_ he moves forward is a combination of torture and of ecstasy. The clench of Quentin around him is unreal, and a primal part of him wants to ram forward, sink all the way into the velvet heat so that it surrounds him. But he won't do that, not unless or until Quentin gives him the go ahead.

"I don't have to go any further than this," Eliot says, wrapping a hand around the base of his dick and squeezing so that it almost, _almost_ feels like he's in to the root.

"We've had this conversation before," Quentin says, shooting him an annoyed look.

"I know," Eliot says with a strained chuckle. "Just trying to be a polite partner."

"Well, dispense with the politeness and get all the way inside me."

Despite Quentin's demand, Eliot still takes his time, and eventually that final inch slips inside. He moans as Quentin wriggles his hips, clenching and adjusting to him, setting Eliot's senses on fire. He waits for a signal that it's okay to move, and once he has it, he hitches Quentin's legs up further and starts to pump his hips.

Quentin's quiet moans urge him on until the slide gets easier, and then he stops holding himself back, giving Quentin exactly what he wants. "Closer," Quentin pleads, and when Eliot leans forward, Quentin's fingers grip his hair to hold him there, their foreheads pressed together as Eliot slides into him rhythmically.

Like this, Eliot can feel the sweat on Quentin's brow, the puff of every short breath, the neediness thrumming through his body. Quentin's feet push down on his ass, urging him to move faster, and Eliot gives in to the impulse. He reaches between them to get at Quentin's cock, smearing the wetness at the tip over his fingers and then stroking him in time with his thrusts.

"Yeah, _yeah, please_ ," Quentin whines, his body writhing as he tries to push up into Eliot's fist and back onto his cock in turns.

"C'mon, baby, let me see you come for me," Eliot says, his own rhythm starting to falter as he sees the wrinkle in Quentin's brow that tells him he's close.

"Oh god, _oh_ —" Quentin says, cutting himself off with a moan as he arches up, shooting onto his own chest and Eliot's, where they're nearly pressed together, and Eliot keeps jerking him through it.

"That's it, yeah, you're so gorgeous," Eliot murmurs, his cock drilling into Quentin desperately as his balls pull up, his thighs tense, and he knows his orgasm is imminent. Quentin keeps bearing down on him through his aftershocks, and that's all it takes. " _God_ , you feel amazing, _fuck_ ," he shouts, pushing in to the root and filling the condom.

"Fuck yeah," Quentin says, moving his hips a little while Eliot is still pulsing his release inside him. "Jesus, that was better than our first first time."

"Well, practice does make perfect," Eliot says, tossing his hair out of his eyes so he can lean down and kiss Quentin properly, the urgency of their arousal faded for the moment, but their desire for each other still going strong.

Eliot slips out of him, barely remembering the condom, and groans as he ties it off. "God, I just remembered that we have to _clean up_."

"You are just full of magical privilege, aren't you?" Quentin says with a grin that never surfaces unless he's been well-fucked. Eliot can definitely get used to that grin again.

"I won't deny that I appreciate the finer things in life. Including, yes, the ability to never have a sticky mess dry on mine or my partner's chest after giving them an amazing orgasm. When I say I want you to feel it later, this isn't what I have in mind."

"It does give us an excuse to shower together."

Eliot hums. "You make a fine point." He forces himself out of bed, seeking out the trash can so he can dispose of the condom. "Oh god," he says, realizing. "How many condoms will we need to bring on our boat trip?"

Quentin laughs so hard he falls off the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments keep me going! <3


End file.
